The Scandalmongers
by MyLadyElise
Summary: Ginny Weasley & Draco Malfoy's love letters have been stolen and are about to be published. This is a story of how a love affair began and the scandal that rocked Wizarding society. Originally written for the DG Forum Fic Exchange. Revised & expanded.
1. Prologue

**The Scandalmongers**

You have no idea how hard it is to live out a great romance. ~ Wallis Simpson, the Duchess of Windsor

A school for Scandal! tell me, I beseech you,  
>Needs there a school this modish art to teach you?<br>No need of lessons now, the knowing think;  
>We might as well be taught to eat and drink.<br>Caused by a dearth of scandal, should be vapours  
>Distress our fair ones – let them read the papers;<br>Their powerful mixtures such disorders hit;

Crave what you will – there's quantum sufficit.

So strong, so swift, the monster's there's no gagging:  
>Cut Scandal's head off, still the tongue is wagging,<br>Proud of your smiles once lavishly bestow'd,  
>Again our young Don Quixote takes the road;<br>To show his gratitude he draws his pen,  
>And seeks his hydra, Scandal, in his den.<br>For your applause all perils he would through –  
>He'll fight – that's write – a cavalliero true,<br>Till every drop of blood – that's ink – is spilt for you.  
>~ From David Garrick's Prologue to <em>The School for Scandal<em> by Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 1777

**Prologue**

And when we love our sin then we are damned indeed.  
>~ Graham Greene, <em>The Power and the Glory<em>

She crunched the newsprint into a ball in her hand, squeezing until her knuckles whitened and her pinky nail made a sharp indentation into her palm. Until she could no longer see the _Daily Prophet's _society headline and only a small corner of a photo peeking through the space between her forefinger and her thumb. She leaned back into her chair, keeping her breath and her nerves steady, and resisting every urge to scream in frustration or to throw her tea cup into the fireplace.

Though never comfortable with it, Ginny Weasley had grown used to press coverage. As a Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps, she accepted it; as the fiancé of Harry Potter, she expected it.

But paparazzi and half-truths and rumours printed as facts – sometimes she had little patience for the media. Now days, very little indeed. Yet, she could not resist looking into _Page Six_ every now and again, though it made her angry more often than not. The breathless anticipation for a wedding that would never be and supposed family feuds made her frown, though at the moment, such nonsense had very little to do with the real cause of her stress.

She tossed the paper towards the bin, resolutely ignoring the smooth unread page on the table beside her even as her eyes darted towards the smirking picture of father and son Malfoy shaking hands with the chairwoman of some charity or other. The Malfoys still smirked at her in the glow of the firelight. She would not pick up that page. She would not.

Ginny had not seen Draco for some weeks – beyond the occasional citations in the press for charitable drives or rumours that he had been seen with this or that witch. Training camp was still weeks away and he generally liked to spend the off-season secluded in some country estate or other, avoiding inevitable Quidditch or Death Eater questions. Long gone indeed was the attention-seeking Malfoy who exaggerated injuries at school and bandied about his father's name like a weapon. Oh, he could still be attention-seeking. Now days he was more likely to shun the press until it suited him and he had learned to play them masterfully. She envied him that even as she envied his secluded estates. She would love to escape paparazzi intrusions, but she did not have ancestral estates scattered across the kingdom and in France, well-equipped to repel persistent paparazzi. She had only her apartment and the Burrow – that not-quite impregnable fortress – and her mother who seemed able to wrangle even Rita Skeeter. She had hid there just last week, pleading a headache from the hit she had taken in the Cup final as an excuse to avoid the opening of the new children's wing at St. Mungo's Hospital.

If she were completely honest with herself (as she rarely was these days), she feared meeting Draco there far more than she feared trouble with the media. She did not know how to meet him anymore in hostile terms. Wasn't that strange?

To have Harry there beside her while she nearly vibrated with anxiety. She could not imagine any scenario in which the evening could pass peacefully. As oblivious as he could be at times, Harry would have to be a complete imbecile _not _to notice the sudden and visceral coldness between herself and Draco after months of … well … _friendship._

She was ashamed of that piece of cowardice. Where had all of her Gryffindor bravery gone?

Ginny was, therefore, surprised when Draco's familiar eagle owl, Cesare, flew through her open bedroom window and landed neatly on her cluttered desk. He shook his feathers and dropped a thin missive. She stood to take the missive from the bird and offered him a treat, which he, as usual, scorned and flew away.

She eyed the parchment with apprehension and even more so the owl flying haughtily away. What had Draco been thinking to send his owl to her? After all the innuendo of recent months and both Luna and Harry knew his owl by now. What reason had they to correspond now? This she muttered to herself as she picked it up and broke the seal.

_Come to Swynford immediately. There is a situation and I would rather not put anything to paper which may be intercepted. The Apparition wards still admit you. Do __**not**__ travel by Floo. I've disconnected._

He did not sign his name.

Right.

This could not be good. Though she had also grown a little too used to Malfoy paranoia, she now understood it, and could be (and was too often) paranoid herself. Still, his usually elegant hand was jerky. Draco was always perfect in his appearance. To have inelegantly written a note – one could almost say sloppily – was akin to having uncombed hair. It simply was not done. This fact worried her more than his words. Something was wrong indeed.

A huge lump formed in her throat; the fear which had sprung over her now and again since Harry's latest injury and recovery caught up to her now. Had they been caught? Now when it had long been over, had they been caught?

She folded the parchment with only slightly shaking hands and tucked it into her trouser pocket as she glanced around for her wand.

Well then, she had to remind herself, she did not yet know what Draco meant – and he might mean anything. Sometimes, he was still prone to dramatics. Perhaps it was the team. Dear Merlin, let it be the team.

She quickly scribbled a vague note to Luna, whom she expected at any moment before grabbing the wand stuck in her chair's side.

* * *

><p>She found him on the balcony of his rooms and not in his accustomed library. Pacing and raking a hand through his unusually messy hair. Not good at all.<p>

He stopped at her, "Draco," and met her by the large open French doors. His eyes were tight and worried, his movements jerky, and he seemed so much older than he had only two months ago, when they had won the European Cup and had been so giddy and reckless. Now, he seemed more like the 17-year-old unsure of his part in the war.

She couldn't seem to move towards him, and stared dumbly, her fingertips aching right along with her chest. Please, she thought. She wanted to press her head against his chest to hear his heart beat, thump, thump, and steady hers to his rhythm. To be in sync. Again. But that had been their problem, had it not? They were too in sync and it was wrong. It was wrong.

"Gin," he breathed. At least he did not seem angry.

He pulled her into him and kissed her with a moan, settling his hands in the small of her back. She sighed and fluttered her eyes closed, hoping he could not feel the tear streaking down her cheek. God she needed him; it was so far past wanting. So, she indulged them both for a moment before pulling away.

"No," she insisted. "I can't – We are through, remember?" She could not forget any detail of their argument and their break. It ran through her mind daily. "We … decided." She crossed her arms protectively and moved several feet away. She could not trust herself so near to him, especially when he looked so vulnerable.

"You mean _you _decided."

She gaped at him, anger sparking and making her flush. "I said a break for now. _You_ were the one that –"

He scoffed, drawing up and into himself, his eyes narrowed and so like his father at that moment that she might have gasped if she had not seen this before. She called it "becoming Malfoyish" to his annoyance, his default attitude in most frustrating situations. She had seen him thus at press and society events when his past was sometimes flung back at him. She had not often seen this side of him turned to herself since her school days.

"Because you are a fucking coward." She hated that tone too.

"I – I was worried about both our futures."

"Right. That is such a convenient excuse. Our _futures_ – where have I heard that? Oh, right – _every_ single time –"

"Draco, you were worried too, remember? When it was just a rumour that we _might_ fancy one another?"

He ignored her. "I survived the Dark Lord and the Death Eater damage to my name. What makes you think that I can't survive _Potter_? Or that I even care what Potter and his band of Merry Men think about anything?"

"You should care – after everything, especially after us," she hissed. "Because he has power, Draco, more than we have. I have felt the world turn on me because of Harry before." He was so damn reckless and obstinate; he probably only summoned her to replay a fight which had been fought a dozen times in the past few months. Damn him.

He scoffed again, and turned away from her stiffly. "It always comes down to Scarhead."

"You know that's not it. If it were just us," she insisted, her tone just as harsh despite her words, "if it were just us, then I would choose you, over and over." Dear Merlin, she wanted to place her hands around his jaw and _force _him to look at her. Make him see this truth at least. There was no contest really. Instead, she explained, "Harry's injured right now. He just got out of St. Mungo's. He's part of my family. I can't just leave right now. That hasn't changed."

"Yes, it has," he sneered.

"No, it hasn't."

"_Yes,_ it has, Ginevra." He moved past her to his unusually cluttered desk to retrieve a letter. When he handed it to her, he seemed slightly wary and vulnerable again. "Just read it, then I'll answer any questions."

She opened the slightly crumbled parchment and quickly scanned the too-neat handwriting. "Oh my God," she murmured and looked up at Draco briefly, who nodded in confirmation. She read it much slower another time, her hands visibly shaking. She must have gone white, she must have, because, dear Merlin above, she felt all the blood rush away from her face.

But somehow, her heart continued to beat, because the sound of it pounded in her ears mercilessly.

She could hardly digest the contents, hardly knew how to respond or act. "Do you know who sent this?" she asked, sitting down at the edge of his bed, suddenly weak.

"Not yet," he murmured. "My attorneys are working on a list of suspects – but with my past and my father's, it's a long list. I've hired a private investigator. I also have my own suspicions."

"Wh–who do you suspect?"

"Pansy, primarily."

"Oh, right, yes," she paused. "I think I'm going to be sick." She did look a little green, so he called for a house elf to bring a potion.

"When did you receive it?"

"Last evening. My attorneys have been working on it for the past 24 hours. I didn't want to tell you, but they haven't been able to stop publication." His voice softened, finally, like it did that day in the hospital nearly a year ago, when she had been concussed again. Just like that, as gentle as a Malfoy voice could be.

"You should have told me, Draco. I should have –" What, she thought, what should I have done? She didn't like the helplessness of his expression, which must mirror her own.

"I hoped to have put a stop to it. Apparently, not even Malfoys have enough galleons to fix this."

"How did this happen?" She glanced down at her shaking hands, because, it was too much to meet Draco's gaze after all. She still held the letter and flung it away as though it burnt her. So this was what ruin felt like. Real ruin. Not like the war when everything was out of her control and all the forces of evil were external. This, this was her own doing. Even if someone else – even then …

"I don't know that either," he conceded with a sigh. Deflated – and she decided that she hated that expression too. Deflate. It was an awful word. Yet, she felt it too. All the air - wooshed - right out her own body along with her blood. Deflated like Draco who seemed to have lost too much of the cockiness that she had begun to rely upon.

He explained, "I never noticed anything missing, Gin. I've been over the security spells, interrogated all the house elves and most of the footmen so far. The thing is, nothing _is_ missing." He turned to a hidden cabinet, opening it with a spell and then opened a safe and took out a small packet of letters. He tossed them to her. "They're all there."

She untied the black satin ribbon holding the bundle together and went through the small packet. They were all there – every letter and note, salacious and otherwise, angtsy, worn. She opened a few and could not help smiling sadly at a few of their expressions. Written mostly when Draco had been sidelined with injury in the winter and a few naughty summons in the spring. These were the only times that they had been apart and she had felt his absence more keenly than she had ever felt Harry's absences over the years.

She could not make herself destroy any and left them to Draco's small safe when the season ended, and Harry had been injured, and she was afraid of discovery. She'd almost asked him to burn them all then, feeling the full weight of her guilt. As if destroying the evidence of her betrayal would make the hurt lessen. Yet, she could not make herself do it ultimately. Not when they had meant so much more than any correspondence had a right mean. And that was always the gist, right? Nothing between them was ever supposed to mean as much as it had.

"Which ones did they get?" she asked. "I think that they are all here." It made her even more ill to think of someone, perhaps especially Pansy, rifling through their intimate correspondence. It was more than an intrusion.

He sighed again and sat down next to her, picking through a few letters on her lap. "Nott thinks that the thief copied a few letters and returned the originals. I've been through the letters myself. I can't tell exactly, but these two seemed to have been folded back the wrong way." He pulled out two letters for her inspection.

… _I am despondently in love with you as I have never been …_

"Oh," she took them, reading over them again. "Oh." A letter to Draco and a letter from him. Their words left little doubt as to their real relationship. And they would be published for all the Wizarding World to see in the _Tattler_ tomorrow morning.

"I'm still fighting it, Gin, but I had to tell you now – so that you could do any ... damage control."

She looked up at him then. "Damage control, yes that would be prudent, wouldn't it? Though I don't know how I could at this point." She paused, brushing her fingers over Draco's signature at the bottom of one page. She had loved him so much at the receipt of this letter, and had been ready to throw Harry over for him. But then, Harry had been attacked, and she had felt unable to spring this on him, and then her family had assumed ... She had been a coward, certainly – and everything that was happening now was her fault. And Draco's too. They'd brought ruin upon themselves. How could there ever be enough damage control for that?

All that and Draco still wanted her. She reached over, allowing letters to fall onto the floor and curled her arms around his chest, resting her chin on his shoulder. "So we're found out then," she murmured into his hair.

"Yes, we're found out," he echoed, returning her embrace and pressing her tightly to him. So tightly. It was always so wrong, and it felt wrong even when it felt natural. She kissed just below his ear and he sagged against her a little. Because, what did it matter now? When everyone was going to know, what was the point of pulling apart now? She just –

"Please," she whispered into his ear, "just please," and moved up to kiss him properly and share his breath. After all, he needed her too. She could feel it, the need, long before she had recognized it. She liked to think she could always feel it with him. Perhaps she always had. But when he kissed her back, none of this reasoning mattered. It was just them, against the world; and this scandal about to break apart their world made her truly realise that this was the way it had been for them, from the very beginning, all the way back to that bookshop.

_Leave him alone._

_Look Potter. You've got yourself a girlfriend._

All the way back to that very first meeting. Because without that moment, without Lucius Malfoy slipping the diary into her things and all that followed through the years, to her trade to the Wasps and their flying together and working together, Ginny would not be with him now.

She could never have loved Draco as she did now had she not hated him first.

He pulled back and looked at her with questioning eyes. She didn't know how to tell him all this yet. "I'm not being fickle, I promise," she said. "This is it, you and me."

"Are you sure …" he began, "because the papers."

"No!" Ginny pressed a harsh kiss against his lips. "Not ever because of that. Never." She swallowed. "I have been wrong to both you and … Harry, and I am sorry for that Draco."

Draco recoiled a little, clearly alarmed by her direction. He never liked sentimentality, and she could not help smiling a little at this. "But I am not … even if I could, I would never go back to Harry. You are it for me, Draco." She played with the hair at the nape of his neck, loving the silky texture. Merlin, she had missed him, but he had not said a word to her declaration.

"That is, I mean …"

He kissed her then, pushing her back onto the bed. "I'll send Weston for your things," he replied. "Stay here, we'll wait the scandal out here."

She pulled him down to her, swallowing her guilt, and concentrating on the feel of his weight, his knee pressed against her thigh. But she had grown too good at swallowing guilt and losing herself in Draco. _That _had to stop didn't it? She didn't have a choice. "I need to warn my parents and I need to see Harry. He deserves at least that much from me," she muttered.

Draco frowned, but nodded in understanding, and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. So earnest, yet still a little guarded. He murmured, "You're it for me too, Gin."

They were in this together, and even though she dreaded the morning, she was okay. Wasn't that strange?


	2. Chapter 1: Page from the fairy-tale book

**Chapter 1: A page from the fairy-tale books**

I was the flower amid a toiling world,  
>Where people smiled to see one happy thing,<br>And they were proud and glad to raise me high;  
>They only asked that I should be right fair,<br>A little kind, and gowned wondrously,  
>And surely it were little praise to me<br>If I had pleased them well throughout my life.  
>~ Sara Teasdale, "Guenevere"<p>

Author's note: The chapter's title is a line taken from the "Prologue" of Rogers and Hammerstein's _Cinderella_.

Sorry this chapter has taken so long. Real life got in the way of writing and then a severe case of writer's block too. I also completely rewrote this chapter. I do not intend to take two months between chapters in the future, I promise. Also, I am currently looking for a beta.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Eighteen months previously …<strong>_

_Daily Prophet, _"Page Six," an excerpt from Parvati Patil's society column

Prince William and Kate Middleton who?

A source close to Wizarding England's most glamourous couple tells us that the Boy Who Lived and the future Mrs. will make an appearance at this Saturday's annual Ministry ball commemorating the defeat of Grindelwald. Though notoriously shy for attending Ministry functions together, the couple is more in demand than ever since the announcement of their engagement. And we are more anxious than ever to catch a glimpse of the ring so closely guarded in photographs.

Rumour has it that Miss Weasley sports an emerald to match her intended's eyes. However, dear Sixers, I favour a ruby to honour House Gryffindor and we have often seen Miss Weasley's preference for that colour in other jewelry and tokens. In any case, we very much doubt that the couple will keep the rather boring tradition of a diamond solitaire. Ginny Weasley's eclectic style has always been a point in our readers' favour.

We have no doubt that the couple will make a grand entrance and put to rest all the concerns for Miss Weasley's latest Quidditch injury.

Also expected to make an appearance is Draco Malfoy, last year's _Witch Weekly_ sexiest wizard alive, muse of Pansy Parkinson, and all-around Quidditch bad boy. Mr. Malfoy stands in for his parents who are currently enjoying a holiday on their private island in Greece.

Mr. Malfoy also happens to be Ginny Weasley's newest teammate since she was traded to the Wimbourne Wasps earlier this week. Of course, no one could forget the rivalry between Malfoy and Potter during their school days. Their legendary scuffles and one-upmanship were always a good source of gossip for those of us fortune enough to attend Hogwarts with them. It will be interesting, indeed, to see if that old enmity bleeds into adulthood.

Methinks, we smell a bit of potential drama and promise to be vigilant in reporting all the gossipy tidbits of Saturday's soirée, dear Sixers!

Too bad other commitments prevent Ms. Parkinson's attendance.

* * *

><p>"Dear Merlin, did either of you read Parvati's column this morning? She is already in fine form for the ball," Ginny complained, adjusting her gown. She was huddled in the private fitting room of Luna and Lavender's Diagon Alley dress shop where the three friends were preparing for the evening's ball together. A hazy dream-like atmosphere – puffs of gauzy and pale fabric and glimmering trinkets surrounding them; swaths of silk draping across the tops of standing mirrors and fine muslin hanging over lamps muted lighting to a warm, dusky glow. It was a dream and Ginny loved hanging about their shop to watch them create and model designs and run her fingers through soft material and admire all the colours and fabric the girls found in travels. Their shop was a haven from the muddy Quidditch pitch and the nosy comments of reporters and prying eyes of the public who felt that they were <em>owed<em> too much of her private life.

"Indeed, she is," Lavender responded with a roll of her eyes. "We had lunch the other day to 'catch up' which is Parvati code for information gathering."

"I'm sure that's not entirely true," Luna defended.

"No," Lavender conceded, "but it is mostly true. Anyway, she got not a word from me, not the shade of our dresses nor the cut of Ginny's ring." Her voice was firm and nearly reminded Ginny of Hermione just as she was about to go into one of her rants.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, Lav," Ginny laughed, "I don't think total secrecy is necessary. It's not a state secret." Luna nodded in agreement.

"You know you cannot give her even a hint, Ginny. She spins anything into a sensational headline."

"That is her job, Lavender, though I can imagine that it would be exhausting to be so constantly on your guard around her," said Luna.

"Yes it is."

"Which is why I never join you on these lunches," Luna added slyly.

Lavender stuck out her tongue at Luna.

The three were silent for a bit, pulling on their gowns and picking through costume jewelry, taking as much concern in their appearance as any bride would on her wedding day. The Ministry Ball was one of the most important events of the social season and a prime opportunity to showcase Luna and Lavender's work. Both witches took especial care with Ginny's look as they knew from past experience that she would be picked apart in European gossip columns for weeks. So they fluttered around their friend as they fidgeted with their own gowns.

"No, no," Ginny insisted, motioning Luna away and tucking red strands of hair behind the sparkling bandeau resting across her forehead. She frowned, poking the accessory with her forefinger. "Luna, are you really sure about this?"

Luna nodded, "Absolutely, Ginny, you look like a dream." She held different earring styles up to Ginny's ears, before dismissing each, and frowning.

Lavender, who had been straightening the hem of Ginny's robe, glanced at their reflection in the mirror. "Is your head still bothering you?"

"No, it's not that. I've not had any headaches for weeks now." Although she protested, Ginny's left hand moved towards her temple massaging lightly, a gesture all-too-common since a concussion had taken her out of Quidditch for two months.

"Then what's wrong with the bandeau?" Lavender asked, turning her attention back to the hem, running her wand across to smooth the line and sitting back to admire her work.

Ginny still fidgeted with the item, turning her head this way and that, examining each angle. She restrained herself from running fingers through the curls of her new long bob. "It just seems a bit much."

Lavender rolled her eyes. "I am the designer here," she reminded Ginny, "and I am determined to make a splash this season."

"I second that," Luna said, "and I'm also a designer, so there." She circled Ginny, only just noticing Lavender to avoid tripping, and dangled a few necklaces in front of her friend. "Which do you like?"

Lavender stood up. "Don't ask for her opinion, Luna, or we'll never make it to the ball on time."

Ginny stuck her tongue out at Lavender. "That is unfair – and untrue."

"Of course it's true. You've been agonising over this event for weeks now," Lavender responded.

"And when you agonise, you are very indecisive," Luna offered.

"And you haven't?" Ginny retorted. "I just think that this might be …" she motioned across her body. "It's the Ministry and you know how stuffy they are."

The three of them turned to the mirror, their eclectic fashions different enough to fit their personalities, but evident of the signature and vintage stylings of Luna and Lavender. For the past three years, the unlikely pair of partners and friends had toiled to make a name for themselves in wizarding society's exclusive fashion industry and had finally opened their very own shop only that autumn – called _Elle_ for their shared initial and their focus on women's fashion. So far, Ginny was their biggest name client, and they meant to make the most of her. Especially tonight. All those society biddies and nouveau riche mingling and each wanting to stand out. They could not ask for better exposure.

"How can anyone complain about a gown taken right out of the 1920s? If anything, you are ultra-traditional."

Ginny sniggered. "That's one way of thinking about it, Luna." She did love the gown and Luna and Lavender had an instinctive feel for what would look best with her colouring and figure. They had chosen a 1924 pattern from Madeleine Vionnet for their inspiration, modifying and updating the style to make it their own, redoing beadwork to form patterns of owls, which shimmered under candlelight, and adding a sheer cape to the back of the dress. Pale blue and gauzy, the gown draped just right on Ginny's lean frame, making the most of her Quidditch tone, and hinting at naughtiness. The material looked translucent in certain light, but it revealed nothing. It was slinky and beautiful and took Ginny's breath. She only hoped that she did justice to her friends' work.

Perhaps Luna was right about the bandeau, she thought, after all. She did not need any other accessory beyond the bandeau and her engagement ring. She said so to Luna, who agreed, and smiled.

Ginny held her left hand against her chest, fingering the intricate beadwork and admiring how each bead caught the reflection of her diamond. A simple solitaire. Lily Potter's ring, which Harry had found among Sirius's belongings when he had gone to live at Grimmauld after the war. Secured in a spelled puzzle box which answered only to Harry's voice. He'd carried the ring around with him for weeks before finally blurting out his proposal when she had stumbled upon the box in his cloak. His words had been hurried, awkward as Harry usually was in romantic gestures. There had been no bended knee or wine or fine dinner or any of the things she had once dreamed of as a girl. But his eyes had gleamed and her hands trembled in accepting the ring. Harry had slid it onto her finger, confident once again, as he was always confident in her, as though they had always been coming to this point, since Ron had brought him home, since the Chamber, since Hogwarts.

His mother's ring. It was Harry's single sacred relic and the fact that he had presented the bauble to her without hesitation or any doubt made her own insecurity fade to nothing more than a dull twinge. It was more romantic than any grand gesture could be. Still, the sight of it against the shimmering material of her gown recalled those insecurities she tried to squash or ignore. How could she (or any woman) ever live up to the image of Lily Potter?

Luna seemed to guess her thoughts, complimenting, "Harry will be so proud."

"I hope so," she murmured. It was exactly the sort of gown she had imagined wearing as Harry's date one day – dreaming of going to a ball or any event on his arm, swirling waltzes across the room and Harry's eyes only for her. When she was a girl. And naïve. And Harry had only been an abstract concept. An ideal. She wanted him to be as proud of her as she had always been of him.

"This is it," Lavender said, shaking Ginny from her thoughts. "We are going to rule the world tonight," she laughed and twirled around in her own beaded lavender gown, a revised Edwardian style for which she was known.

Luna giggled. She studied her own appearance in the mirror, choosing a more modern look, rooted in the 1950s – a fitted white bodice with hand-embroidered black roses around the waistline and trailing to the growing mound of black roses along the hem of her sheath skirt and matching the flurry of roses on her fluffy, full half-skirt attached to the back on her dress, creating the illusion of a fluffy, flowing train made of roses. Each small rose winked like an eye, blinking quickly and all out of sync, so that the gown appeared to glimmer without any the aid of sequins or crystals or beadwork. It was unsettling and entirely Luna.

"If Rolf doesn't drop to his knees in worship at the sight of you," Lavender said, "then he is a right ninny and I'll hex him."

If it has been anyone else, Ginny would have expected an eye roll at this pronouncement, but Luna was not given to eye rolls, though she did purse her lips in annoyance. Her voice lost some of the dreamy tone she habitually carried, "I hardly care what Rolf does anymore." Her sigh was more frustration than wistfulness.

Lavender gave her a disbelieving sidelong glance.

"Really, I don't," Luna persisted. "It's been nearly a year."

"Yes, but don't you _want_ him to be pining for you? I know I would."

"Lav, I don't care. I don't even know if he will be there – for all I know, he is still in Peru with his father."

Lavender began to say something, but Luna interrupted, "I don't want to talk about it." She forced herself to smile and turned back to the mirror to style her hair.

"Well then," Lavender said, "be my date."

"Thanks, Lav, but no."

"I thought Theo was your date," Ginny replied.

Lavender rolled her eyes, "But you _know_ what he's like."

"Then why did you agree?"

"Have you _seen_ Theo in dress robes?"

Luna laughed. "Don't you think Theo would mind if you ditched him for me?"

"Oh I'm not going to ditch him," Lavender explained, "I'm just fairly certain that I'll lose him along the way."

"Anyway, who's to say that I don't have a date?" Luna said a little too airily. Ginny appeared somewhat stunned, as Luna had been vocal in her shunning of the opposite sex since Rolf's infidelity.

As Luna did not appear to want to elaborate at the moment, Ginny thought it wise to change the subject. "That is certainly an interesting dating philosophy, Lavender," Ginny commented with some amusement.

"Says the witch who has been off the market for years."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you don't just give in, Lav. Anyone with half a brain can see that you fancy one another."

"Yes, Ginny, and I know what Theo is like. As soon as I _really_ go out with him, he will be bored and I like this pseudo-flirtation thing we have going."

"Plus, you know, he is our silent business partner," Luna said.

Ginny stared at them. "When did this happen?"

The two girls looked at one another. "We needed the capital," Lavender explained, "and Theo offered."

"Don't worry, Gin," Luna said, "we've got a contract, a solid one."

"Percy looked over the terms for us," Lavender said, "after he lectured us for going into business with a Nott."

Ginny almost answered, as he should, but then she was going to be Malfoy's teammate and that seemed at least as bad from a Gryffindor standpoint. "As long as you have protected yourselves."

"Speaking of snarky Slytherin gits," Lavender said slyly, "how is Harry taking the news of your trade to Wimbourne?"

Ginny shrugged. "There's not much he can do about it, is there?"

"No, but he can complain," Lavender replied.

"Which he does in spades," Luna finished. "I saw him in Diagon Alley yesterday. _The Daily Prophet_'s Quidditch reporter had been pestering him for a comment."

"Bet he was thrilled with that."

Ginny nodded. "I heard all about it last night. I love Harry dearly, but you would think that he would be used to media attention by now."

Lavender and Luna exchanged glances. "I don't think it was the media attention that so rankled him," Lavender said.

Ginny frowned.

"Malfoy has a reputation," her friend explained.

"Merlin's beard," was Ginny's only reply. She could only imagine. Nothing or no one short of Voldemort himself could needle Harry more than a Malfoy.

"He was named _Witch Weekly_'s sexiest wizard alive," Luna added unhelpfully.

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything." Ginny snorted. "Who comes up with this stuff?"

"Ginny!" Lavender exclaimed, "Even you have to admit that Malfoy is quite fit these days."

"I don't have to admit anything."

"Well, I'll admit it," Luna chimed in, "he is quite the sexy devil."

Ginny let out a shock of giggles. "Luna!"

"What?" she said. "I'm not one to deny the truth."

"Or a handsome wizard," Lavender said wryly.

"That too." Luna turned back to the mirror and played with the colour of her lipstick, lightening the shade of red just slightly. "Life is too short to deny yourself some fun."

Fun and Malfoy? _That_ didn't sound right at all. "The only fun I'll be having with Malfoy is laughing when he takes a Bludger wrong in practice."

"Admirable team spirit there, Gin," said Lavender with some amusement. "I can think of a dozen other ways to have fun with Malfoy."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Ew, Lav – just ew." She shook her head, though the image of Malfoy all sweaty and breathless, mud splattered about his trousers, did seem worrisomely tantalising. And wrong. Yes, wrong, definitely that. She cleared her throat and held out her left hand, wriggling her ring in front of Lavender.

"Doesn't hurt to look as long as you don't touch," was Lavender's response.

"In fact," Luna informed her, "looking is a must. I expect a full report of any goings-on in the locker room."

"Luna! What do you think goes on in the locker room?" Ginny laughed.

She sighed. "Probably not as much as goes on in my imagination." She flashed a dreamy and naughty smile at Ginny. "But if you see a naked arse or two in the persuasion of a Malfoy or Fitzwilliam feel free to fully report your findings to us."

"Or, you know, any other naked male bits you may glimpse," Lavender added.

Ginny swatted her friends with her cape. "Pervs," she accused, laughing. Lavender caught the end of Ginny's cape and pushed her back playfully, and the three fell together in a pile of giggles.

George took that moment to make his presence known, clearing his throat in an exaggerated manner and leaning against the open doorway of the dressing room.

"George!" Ginny exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to hear you perving on Malfoy," he said distastefully, though his smile belied the tone of his voice. He stepped forward, holding an arm out in their general direction.

"What if we had been dressing?" Ginny asked.

"Do you normally dress with an open shop door? Why, Ginbug, quite the exhibitionist you've become."

His sister rolled her eyes.

Luna smiled brilliantly at him, and suddenly Ginny noticed that George's eyes had never strayed from her friend. He would have hardly noticed anyone else. Ginny had never seen him so open in his admiration for any witch and the smile which he gave Luna made Ginny feel as though she and Lavender had intruded upon an intimate moment. Luna took his arm and allowed him to help her from the floor. "Don't worry, love," she said, "you are the only wizard that I am currently perving on." Her voice was soft, though she had not attempted to conceal her words from her friends.

"I am glad to hear it," was George's uncharacteristically genuine reply.

Lavender winked at Ginny and the two scrambled from the floor, helping to smooth their gowns before turning back to George and Luna. "So I take it that George is the reason you turned down my offer?" she teased.

"No, I always turn down lewd offers."

"Lewd?" George questioned, intrigued.

Luna laughed at his sparkling expression. "Well, I turn down lewd offers by anyone not named George Weasley."

"That's my girl," he replied and kissed her cheek, "because I plan on making you a few lewd offers this evening, my looney."

"Promise?"

Ginny made gagging noises at their obvious flirtation. "When did Luna become your girl, George?"

"A few weeks, maybe more," Luna answered.

"They have lunch together nearly every day," Lavender informed her. "Fred and I like to show up and mock them." She made teasing kissy faces at the pair.

"I am so out of the loop," Ginny complained.

"Yes, you are, sis." George tugged at Ginny's hair, earning him a smack and frown.

"Don't make me hex you," she warned. "I'm about to meet Harry and I don't want to be late."

* * *

><p>When Ginny Apparated home, she found Harry already there, lounging on her sofa in his dress robes and thumbing lazily through a Quidditch magazine. He glanced up at her "pop," his spikey hair falling into his eyes, which seemed so much darker in the dim light of the room. He did not say anything at first, nor did he rise from his seat, staring intently at her figure in a way that was disconcerting and almost thrilling. She had not seen that look in a very long time and Ginny could feel the flush starting to creep. It had been too long since Harry had made her flush.<p>

"Ginny," he murmured, and slowly moved towards her.

They hardly seen one another in weeks. Harry's position as a top Auror sent him away for lengths of time and his schedule was often at odds with her own career. The last time they had spent any quality time together, she had been huddled in a dark corner of her bedroom, protesting any light or sound. She could hardly bear to even breathe his cologne. Harry had panicked even with the reassurances of her Mediwitch and Molly and demanded she retire. A fight in hushed tones had ensued.

Harry had returned to thinking of her as a fragile creature under his protection. She understood his worry even as she chafed against it.

There had been apologies in the days that followed, of course. There always were, even if the apologies were not sincere at first. Ginny's parents had long drilled into her the importance of making amends and so she often found herself giving into Harry, and swallowing her own wishes, though this, Quidditch, she could not give up. Quidditch was hers. The only thing that was really hers.

Harry's mission to Bulgaria had been a thorn and a blessing in disguise. Even after his return, their time had been limited to dinners, fleeting touches at night, and somewhat stilted conversation. Quidditch had become an avoided topic. When her agent had informed her of the trade to Wimbourne, she had handed the letter to Harry wordlessly, her brow lifted in defiance and dared him to object with her stare.

He had whinged about Wimbourne's penchant for physicality, and about Malfoy, of course, but he rarely went further than whinging. Since her accident, Harry had been reluctant to test her temper as he seemed to think that too much stress or an argument would cause her to relapse into dark, cool rooms and incapacitating headaches.

But there were to be no arguments tonight. She was determined. For the first time in weeks, she felt strong and fit, no dizziness or queasiness or head throbs. She wanted to enjoy Harry, just to be with him, mingling with friends, and coaxing him to dance with her. To get back to the way things were before her accident, even before their engagement and all the expectations that entailed.

"Ginny," he repeated, grinning shamelessly as she struck a provocative pose for him. "My girl," he said, pulling her to him and twirling her about her small parlour, "will be the most beautiful witch at the ball."

She laughed and pinked again. Harry so rarely gave these compliments that she felt like that awestruck ten-year-old when he did. Not that Harry was, by any means, neglectful. He was just Harry.

She kissed him briefly, but allowed the tip of her tongue to run across the seam of his mouth, promising more later. "We should go," she murmured against his mouth.

He made a small noise of protest, pressing her closer. "Yes," he replied, drawing her into a deeper kiss. "We should." Harry stilled at her moan, taking it for proof of weakness. He pulled away slightly and ran his hands up her arms. "Are you sure you are well enough, Gin?"

She sighed. "Yes, Harry, I am sure." His eyes roamed her face looking for other signs of weakness. "Really, I am fine, Harry. I've even been cleared for trade, remember?"

His brow furrowed at that reminder. "We can skip the red carpet."

"That is not necessary."

"But you don't even like the red carpet," he reasoned, "and I don't either."

"We may not," she replied, "but people expect us. Luna and Lavender expect me. They are relying on press from this event. I'm not going to skip the most photographed part of the evening."

"I understand that, Gin, but the flashing bulbs –"

"Are not going to bother me."

"You don't know that."

Ginny took a deep breath and a few steps away from him. "Harry, sweetie, dear, love, if you don't stop hovering, _you_ are going to cause me a headache."

He winced. "Sorry."

"Now let's go," she said, grabbing her purse and their wands.

* * *

><p>Ginny's press smile was stiff and formal. She had not yet mastered the convincingly fake smile expected of society's darlings. Red carpets were always a blur for her, the succession of flashbulbs and constant calls for attention from competing sides of the carpet and competing publications. One had to be careful not to show too much preference for a single reporter, especially with politically tinged events such as the Ministry Ball. Objective in her approach and gracious to all – that was her role at Harry's side. For tonight, she was the future Mrs. Harry Potter more so than Ginny Weasley, new Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps. Though reporters were likely to question the latter, they would focus on the former, demanding details of a wedding yet to be planned.<p>

"Harry Potter! Ginny Weasley!" Ginny could hardly tell which way to turn. The Aurors' Division public relations expert, Miles Taylor, guided the couple through, pointing out the expedient and more diplomatically valuable publications to greet on the way to the entrance.

"Yes, we are very happy," she heard herself say, even as she pulled off a glove to allow _Page Six_ and the _Tattler_ to glimpse her ring.

To her great surprise, Harry had decided to be politically astute enough to bring her ringed hand to his lips for a chivalrous kiss. Ginny flushed for an entirely different reason. If Ron had been present, he would have mocked Harry for that, but Ginny could only smile tightly and count the steps to the entrance. She hated a display and Harry knew that. He usually hated displays as well.

People wanted to see Harry and Ginny together and happy – as evidence that the war could be got over, and that the world was moving on. The Ministry had little compunction in exploiting its connection to Harry Potter and demanding his presence and his fiancé at benefits and balls. And Ginny obliged when she could – which was more often than she sometimes liked.

Except that sometimes it was fun to be pampered and adored and to wear beautiful robes and to see Harry looking at her so proudly.

She had not, of course, presumed to be that example of connubial felicity of her childhood dreams. But she had been happy and content, if faith in her partner and some confidence in the direction of her career could be an adequate foundation for happiness. At any rate, it was a kind of happiness, if she did not look too closely into the details – or rather, her reluctance to do so allowed Ginny to ignore the minor dissatisfactions which crept up more and more frequently since her engagement. If, sometimes, she felt restless and disappointed, she quickly turned such thoughts aside. Ginny Weasley was not a malcontent, whatever the events of her first year at Hogwarts might otherwise portray. She had been fortunate, and knew her good fortune in a set of parents and brothers relatively intact from the war, in the love of their world's hero, and in her dreamed-of career. And to most, her happiness seemed a complete, perfect thing.

She was, indeed, a creature of happiness and so believed that other witches and wizards (and Muggles) must be so as well. In this philosophy, she was well-suited to her fiancé Harry Potter. His harsh early years had trained him to believe that happiness may be found in any situation. They believed, and Ginny often said, that a person must make their own happiness. In this, she resembled her brothers Fred and George and her father Arthur.

This was not to say that Ginny was blissful or even willfully ignorant of the more sordid aspects of the world. Her experience with Tom Riddle and the war certainly dispelled her of any claim to naïveté or innocence.

And so, she believed that she was happy.

The larger world certainly believed in that happiness, and held Ginny and Harry to that idyllic standard of great fairytale romances – followed in Wizarding Britain as Prince William and Kate Middleton were followed in the larger world. Harry was, and had always been, their prince – and since he loved Ginny, she was their princess-to-be. They loved the look of them together – her reddish hair like burnt copper against his darker hair and emerald eyes – and they featured frequently in the press and tabloids. They wanted the Cinderella story played out before them.

Not that Ginny minded.

Generally – even if Harry did.

The thing was – she understood. She'd been on the other side, dreaming of Harry Potter as her own personal knight-errant. He represented a better world, and he was still that to her – even if he was oblivious to this particular role. She knew her role. The world wanted her to be elegant and beautiful by his side. To wear beautiful robes and to smile at Harry as though he were the only wizard alive. It was easy to oblige and to be loved by them as they loved Harry. They did not require, nor did they expect, that she had (or wanted) a life outside of Harry.

And that was okay. Because she had seen the world without Harry, had persevered through a year-long break-up that saw her labeled as the Girl Who Broke Harry's Heart and other viler names – though it had never been that way. She had been built up and cut down by all the Wizarding World, had even the events of her first year somehow displayed in the _Tattler_, and wondered at all the wizards who shied away from dating her. But there had never been a heartbreak. They simply wanted a break. She had not expected the press to turn on her.

Instead, she lost herself in the beginnings of her Quidditch career. Quidditch had always been her haven. Still, she had been _too_ relieved when Harry came back, pleading his mistake and they ended up engaged. The press had forgiven her and society was kinder and time had moved on and they were the darlings of the Wizarding World once again.

She had learnt that as long as she played her role, the world would not care whether she played Quidditch until the end of her days.

But it was a little trying at times, and sometimes she felt a little lost to that role – even in the press conferences of the Quidditch season. As soon as she stepped off the pitch, she became the future Mrs. Harry Potter – and sometimes, she wanted a little something for herself.

"Who are you wearing?" Parvati Patil asked, startling Ginny from her reverie. A photographer stood ready at her side.

"I'm wearing Elle, Luna Lovegood and Lavender Brown's new line," Ginny replied, proudly, as Parvati took notes and requested Ginny to twirl for the full effect.

"Simply stunning," Parvati complimented. "The beadwork is amazingly detailed. Is this all hand-sewn?"

Ginny frowned a little, "A believe, for the most part. Lavender and Luna would know more about the spells involved. I only know that I fell in love with the design the minute I saw the drawing."

Parvati smiled. "Lavender refused to tell me a thing, so naturally I expected you to wear their designs, but I never have imagined … Ginny, turn again so that Dennis can capture the cape adequately. My readers will love this!"

"Thank you," Ginny replied, obliging. "Lav and Luna should be arriving shortly. They are wearing their own designs as well."

"I knew that Lav would be a success when she transfigured our school robes on weekends," Parvati confessed. "Off the record," she nodded to Ginny, "I'm giving a dedicated page to their designs in my coverage."

"They will be very pleased," Ginny said.

"Now, back to business," Parvati said with a disconcerting air, "where's the ring?"

Ginny held out her left hand, pulling her glove off for a moment, obliging even though Dennis had previously taken a picture when Parvati was otherwise occupied.

"A solitaire?" her erstwhile Gryffindor housemate exclaimed, aghast. "Just a solitaire?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes and jerked back her hand, pulling her glove back on. "It's a family heirloom and I think it's beautiful," she said stiffly.

"Of course," Parvati tittered. "Have you set a date for the wedding?"

Ginny smiled again, a little more strained, and returned to the answer she had given four other reporters that evening. "We are just enjoying the engagement at the moment. There is time for planning later." She nudged Harry, disgruntled again that she always had to field these questions, whether she attended in his company or not.

"Right, Ginny's just been traded and our schedules are very busy for now. We'll get to any planning in the offseason," Harry added, and took Ginny's arm to steer her away. She nodded to the reporter from _Le Monde Magique_ to whom Harry had been conversing. They posed together for a brief moment before moving further along the carpet.

She smiled at him gratefully just as a camera flashed, their arms linked, a united front to the Wizarding world. The weight of her diamond seemed so much lighter beneath her long kid gloves. She felt extraordinarily lucky to have had nearly all her dreams come true.

If the lustre of those dreams had dimmed in its reality, it was not to be wondered at.

Taylor, the Auror's PR expert, began to usher them more quickly towards the entrance. The head of Harry's department had made a point about speaking with the Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt this evening and the start of the evening was the best time, according to Taylor's scouting. He leaned over to inform them that the Minister was inside and turned Harry and Ginny away from some of the lesser publications.

Ginny had just returned a greeting from an old school friend when the dull buzzing of the crowd momentarily soared, signaling another "important" arrival. She was momentarily startled by its intensity and glanced back to see who could possibly occasion such a reaction when she heard a few shouts of "Malfoy!" from the opposite end of the carpet. Her heart leapt to her throat and she uncharacteristically clasped Harry's arm tighter as though to stay his movement. She could see nothing over the raised cameras and taller figures.

"Let's go," Harry urged, pulling her away and glancing down at her with some concern, confusing her curiosity with possible weakness.

"Right," she answered, loosening her grip and trying to appear nonchalant and strong. In the corner of her vision, she could just see a white blond head starting to make his way down the red carpet.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: More Draco next time, I promise! Thanks to everyone who reviewed and read this story!<p> 


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